


Shrunkyclunks Hurt/Comfort Mission Awry

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Mission Fics [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shrunkyclunks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: Steve looks like death warmed up even though he’s making his best attempt at a smile.“Hey,” he says, a rasp, but Bucky’s running to him by then.“Why aren’t you in medical?” Bucky breathes, hands on Steve’s arms as soon as he’s within reaching distance, looking Steve over as he holds onto him - because medical is where he thought Steve was going before Steve was meant to head to debrief.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Mission Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599379
Comments: 29
Kudos: 289





	Shrunkyclunks Hurt/Comfort Mission Awry

**Author's Note:**

> **Written for Hasan-Minhaj, see end notes for more info**

“Oh wow, Jesus,” Bucky says as Steve trudges in - Steve is soaked to the bone, of course, and bleeding in a couple places.

And he has a beard, uneven, his hair’s the same - choppy and long. 

He’s _filthy._

Bucky throws his magazine down as he launches himself off the couch, and he’s pretty sure the magazine hurtles right off the other end, but he’s also certain he doesn’t care. Steve looks like death warmed up even though he’s making his best attempt at a smile. 

“Hey,” he says, a rasp, but Bucky’s running to him by then.

“Why aren’t you in medical?” Bucky breathes, hands on Steve’s arms as soon as he’s within reaching distance, looking Steve over as he holds onto him - because medical is where he thought Steve was going before Steve was meant to head to debrief. 

Bucky was waiting here for the usual rigmarole to be over so they could head on back to Brooklyn and their house and their cat and their crockpot Mexican shredded chicken, but Steve’s pale and wet and _cold_ when he hunches his shoulders, when he folds in on himself and kisses Bucky like he hasn’t seen him in years. The taste is not appealing but Bucky couldn’t care less in the face of whatever this is.

“Buck,” he mumbles imploringly against Bucky’s mouth, crowding himself into Bucky with an intensity he doesn’t usually use so soon after the end of a mission, holding Bucky’s head in cold, wet, still-gloved hands.

“Steve-” Bucky says, hands over Steve’s on either side of his head and they’re _freezing_ , “Steve, hold on, baby, wait, wait-”

And Steve does, pulls back enough to look at Bucky and damn he looks tired. Bucky cradles Steve’s face right back a moment later, sways with Steve when Steve sways.

“Baby, what _happened?”_ he says. “What happened to you, baby, tell me, you’re okay-”

“Spells- magic,” Steve says, shaking his head as he squeezes his eyes closed. “It’s always magic, they always-”

“Hey, hey,” Bucky says, because Steve doesn’t sound like he’s a hundred percent in the room, doesn’t stand like he’s going to be standing upright much longer.

“Why?” he says, and he opens his eyes then and looks at Bucky as he shakes his head. “Why’s it’s always magic?” 

“Baby, what’s happened to you?” Bucky asks, they only left this afternoon - they figured three hours tops, that’s why Bucky came to the tower. 

It’s only been _two_ , they were gonna grab donuts on the way home.

“I’m cold,” Steve says. “I’m cold and I’m hungry, sweetheart, and I’m,” his mouth drops open and he hunches inward again, _“hungry,_ ” and his hands slip down over Bucky’s shoulders, in over his chest and around his waist and-

“Steve,” Bucky says against his mouth and good _God_ but he’s cold. “Steve, what’s going on-”

“It was a week,” he says, and then he says it again and his voice is thinner, “it was a week, Bucky,” and then he’s burying his scratchy beard and his freezing cold face in Bucky’s neck, and the only thing that stops him yelping in shock is the next thing out of Steve’s mouth. “Nine days I was on Jötunheim.” and even though he feels guilty about it immediately, Bucky’s first thought is, _nine days? That can’t be right._

“What?” he whispers, and slowly he registers what’s going on enough to put his arms around Steve in return - the cold water from Steve’s uniform has already soaked his shirtfront but Steve’s trembling against him and Bucky isn’t sure that it’s just the cold. “What, baby?”

“I couldn’t get back,” Steve says. “I didn’t even _know_ that’s where I _was,”_ and Bucky holds him back just as tightly as Steve’s holding him.

“You were where, for nine days?”

“Ice,” Steve answers, and Bucky’s blood runs cold then, too, as the knowledge surfaces in his brain.

They teach this shit in schools now, they have to, there are Wikipedia entries - _Jötunheim_. One of the Asgardian things, one of their realms and Bucky doesn’t know one from the other except-

“Baby, why aren’t you in medical?” Bucky says, because nine days without food or warmth? Nine days away from his friends, his family, his world?

“I,” he groans, and he holds Bucky closer, “I wanted to come _home.”_

Bucky shuts his eyes for a moment and then turns his head, presses kisses to the cold skin of Steve’s throat, to his clenched, bearded jaw, to the damp hair at his temple.

“I got you,” he says, soft and slow, lifts one hand to the back of Steve’s head to stroke his hair, longer now than it was when he left. “You’re alright, we’ll go home-”

 _“You are_ home,” Steve says through gritted teeth, and Bucky kisses his head some more.

His hair is grimy and greasy but Bucky doesn’t care, and Steve’s still shaking all over, Steve’s cold, wet clothes aren’t getting any warmer.

“Come on,” Bucky says, and pulls away a little - Steve’ bigger than him and older than him but it seems he’s happy to do what he’s told for once. “We gotta do somethin’, you got blood-”

“Don’t,” Steve says, but Bucky isn’t - he’s not going anywhere.

“I wouldn’t,” he says. “Not without you, come on, but you’re cold. Okay? When did you- Have- Have you seen anybody?”

“It was all of us,” Steve answers, and he looks hunted, haunted. 

Bucky blinks at him. All of them got sent to Jötunheim? Or all of them got sent somewhere they didn’t know?

“Have any of you seen anybody?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, his gaze unwavering. “I came to you.”

That’s…alarming but…

Okay, no, that’s alarming. Period. And then Bucky thinks of something worse.

“Did everyone get back?” he says. 

“Yes,” Steve answers, and relief uncurls in Bucky’s chest. 

But then a shudder wracks Steve’s body, his expression pinched, in pain, and Bucky shakes his head.

“Okay, no,” he says. “Come on, we’re getting you something warm to drink and then you’re getting in the shower.”

“There’s,” Steve says, “frostbite.” And he looks ashamed about it, too.

“Good thing I love you, no matter how many toes you got, huh?”

But Steve doesn’t smile.

~

Bucky makes him tomato soup because they’ve got it in a can. He has Jarvis turn up the ambient temperature -

“Make it so hot I can’t stand it,” Bucky says to Jarvis, and then, to Steve, “we can walk around naked, huh? Like our honeymoon?”

Steve’s fingers are stiff as he tries to manage the closures of his suit, deathly pale or angry red in places. Most notably around the metal ring on his left hand.

“Steve,” Bucky says when he sees, but Steve doesn’t answer him, he just _looks_ at him, and Bucky gets it.

He didn’t know where he was, why would he let go of a connection like that?

“Come on,” Bucky tells him, pressing the mug into Steve’s hands before he’s cradling Steve’s head once his own hands are free. “Drink.”

It’s hot but not piping - Bucky’s got no idea whether Steve can accurately feel temperature in his mouth, and the last thing he wants it to burn Steve down to his stomach trying to help. It turns out barely to matter at all - Steve gets two mouthfuls in before he hunches forward, spluttering back into the mug. 

Fuck, _fuck,_ nine days without food would be bad enough but on his metabolism? His stomach won’t be ready for anything more than a couple of mouthfuls, dammit, Bucky should have remembered that.

“It’s okay,” Bucky says fast, hands out to take the mug back while Steve coughs, setting it aside while Steve tries to cover his mouth. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry, here, we- You can have it after. Okay?”

Steve looks at him from under his eyebrows, eyes dark, jaw set, body shaking, and Bucky kisses his bearded jaw, his throat, anywhere he can reach.

“Shower,” he says, because he knows you have to warm someone up from the inside if they’re hypothermic, but he can’t get anything warm into Steve, and Steve will never start healing properly if Bucky can’t get him warm somewhere, somehow. “It’s gonna hurt.”

“It already hurts,” Steve answers, shaking his head, his voice quaking as much as his body is, and Bucky nods, gets an arm around his waist, gets himself under Steve’s arm, so that they can hobble to the en suite together.

~

Bucky tests the water with his hand, down to his underwear himself. The shower’s lukewarm at best but he doesn’t want to boil Steve alive, needs to bring him back up slowly, and he can deal with his own discomfort for a while if it means Steve will be okay.

“Here,” he says, because he managed to unlace Steve’s boots, managed to pull them off Steve’s feet, managed to get the gloves off his hands and the exosuit open and off but the rest? 

Priorities.

He takes Steve’s hand in his own, helps him shuffle forward, and then steps into the shower, mindful of Steve’s feet on the tiles - if he slips and falls Bucky’s not strong enough to stop him going down. But Steve is sure-footed enough, and he steps in after Bucky, straight into Bucky’s waiting arms.

“Okay,” Bucky says softly, pulling the door closed behind them both. “Okay, baby, okay,” and then he pulls the showerhead around so that the spray is drenching both of them, brings Steve’s head down against his shoulder.

Steve groans, hisses though his teeth, and turns his ice-cold face into Bucky’s neck again.

“Ahh,” he says, like a warning, “ahh.”

“I know,” Bucky answers, carding his fingers through Steve’s filthy hair as he holds him close, waiting for the warm water to saturate Steve’s clothing, to start pushing the warmth back into him. 

He hopes to God this works.

“A-Ahh,” Steve says, and Bucky can feel him trying to shrink in on himself, away from the pain, into Bucky for refuge.

“I know,” Bucky says. “I know.”

~

Once Steve’s clothes are warmer, once the warm water’s gotten in a little, Bucky sets about undressing him the rest of the way. He turns the water temperature up a few degrees and helps Steve strip as best he can, though Steve gets tangled in his undershirt, almost falls getting out of his pants. 

“I had to fight,” Steve says. “These… _things_. Scales a-and antlers and they…I couldn’t run fast enough.”

The blood washes away in rivulets and leaves thick, pink scars behind, divots in his limbs, across his muscles. They’ll heal without a trace in time. 

He burned whatever he could - moss, his belt, his _hair._ Couldn’t burn the rest because he needed it to live.

 _“Mr Stark is inquiring after the Captain’s whereabouts,”_ Jarvis says as Bucky’s taking off Steve’s socks, and they’ve both given up on standing by then.

The tiles are heated from behind and beneath, and Steve’s just half-lying on the shower floor with Bucky sitting beside him, one arm looped loosely around Bucky’s waist, the water like a monsoon around them. It’s almost too warm for Bucky but Steve’s red and white patches are mostly fading, his lips are more pink now than purple.

“He’s here, you can tell them he’s with me, we’re getting there slowly. Are they alright?”

_“The remaining Avengers are recovering. I will relay your message.”_

And then-

“Oh,” Bucky says, because Steve was right. “Oh, Stevie.”

Four of Steve’s toes are black, two more are clearly not far behind. They’ll get better, so Steve’s said, but still. There isn’t much to do about it, and Steve’s expression is still pinched, his shoulders still hunched.

One of his fingers, his ring finger, is still white. It will take longer to heal because it was colder, because of the ring.

"Sweetheart," Bucky says, but Steve doesn't answer him really. 

He moves a little, fingers curling, body curved around Bucky's, hemming him in even though Bucky's the one nearest the door, even though Steve's the one who needs comfort. But Steve's head stays down, he lies on the tiles with the water flowing over him, around them both. Steve hears him, obviously, but that's as much as he can do for now, and so Bucky doesn't push him. Instead, Bucky strokes his wet hair, warm from the water and the humidity, cleaner as time goes by, and then strokes his neck and shoulder, exposed where he lies on his side without a pillow. Bucky follows the curve of his arm with gentle fingers, then the contour of his waist, his hip, his thigh and back, and Steve's eyes close, his lips pressed together as his brow furrows. It's only when he turns his face a little more towards the floor that Bucky recognizes the dimple in his chin and the redness at the tip of his nose, the evidence of nine days of terror, and the overwhelming relief of safe return, hidden by water warm enough to bring the sensation back to his hands. Bucky rests his palm against Steve's head.

"I know," he says softly, and Steve's breaths hitch softly enough that Bucky barely hears them over the sounds of the rushing water, his fingers finding Bucky's free hand to squeeze it tight.

Bucky lifts Steve’s hand with his own, presses it, still stiff and cool, to his lips.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says, and Steve just lies still, inert on the shower floor except for where his fingers are wrapped tightly around Bucky’s

~

It takes hours for Steve to warm. And, after he’s warm, it takes hours for him to rouse - he’s barely awake for a long time, safe in the heat of the shower and, Bucky hopes, in the company of his husband. 

Drying them both is difficult when Steve doesn't want to leave the perceived safety of the shower. Bucky gets out first and makes sure the towels over the rail are warm before he coaxes Steve out - Bucky's never seen him like this, and it's terrifying to watch him push himself up to sit on the shower floor as though he's lost, as though he's weak. He is weak, of course, he hasn't eaten anything except a protein bar in nine days, and so Bucky wraps him in the towel and intends to dry him.

But Steve takes over after a few moments, perhaps coming back to himself. Still, Bucky saw the news back in 2012 after the battle of New York, so he knows that Steve being traumatized and Steve functioning highly are not necessarily mutually exclusive. 

So Bucky gets out the blow dryer, and insists on drying Steve’s hair for him. Steve's expression of blissful gratitude when he does is almost enough to make him smile, except that Bucky knows why he looks so grateful, why the warmth is so welcome. Bucky finds the coziest clothes he can after that, just as soon as Steve lets him leave the room.

There are one or two messages from the others - apparently they were put somewhere, most of them. All except Thor and Loki - _the Enchantress,_ Jarvis says, and the personal grudge she holds. 

As is so often the way, she found that, to hurt a man most, you hurt the people he cares about. And so she sent Thor’s friends away, to their worst imaginings. Steve to Jötunheim, ice and isolation. Romanov, someone who thought herself damned, to a land of fire and brimstone. Stark to an endless desert, like his nightmares. Barton to a realm of darkness where none of his senses would help him. Wilson to Helheim and the souls of the dead. 

“Jesus, Christ,” Bucky mutters when Steve’s finished telling him, pulling the covers up around them both, but Steve huddles close, makes himself small and presses his body against Bucky’s.

It isn’t fair of course, none of it is. But this especially, when someone as tactile as Steve could benefit so greatly from contact. Now that Steve’s dressed himself, he won’t take his clothes off again, not that Bucky can blame him. Which means Bucky can’t do much by way of contact. He manages to get his hands up the back of Steve’s shirt and finds that, though Bucky’s already sweating, hot enough that he’ll need a break at some point, maybe an iced coffee Steve’s still cool in places. Even though he’s warmed considerably, his feet still aren’t warm inside his socks, his hands still aren’t warm where they’re curled in fists against Bucky’s chest.

“I didn’t just go there,” Steve tells him, when it’s been hours and the sun has set and it’s warmer than the tropics in their bedroom but they’re still under two quilts, Steve still in two sets of pajamas. “It made me cold. I couldn’t move. And then I was falling and then I was on the ground and I…”

His voice cracks over his words and Bucky feels the dread of it creep over him again, racing up his spine in a chill and spreading out over his skin.

“You thought it was the future,” he says. 

Steve thought it had happened again.

And Steve doesn’t answer, not that he needs to at this point. Instead, he lifts his head and crashes into Bucky, kissing him with bruising intensity, fingers opening long enough to grasp at the thin undershirt Bucky’s put on for Steve to use as an anchor.

“I thought I lost you,” Steve says against his mouth, in a rush of warm air, and Bucky grasps at him too, tries to reassure him with his proximity, with his touch, tries to reach as much of Steve as he can, to cover as much of Steve’s body with his hands as possible. _“Everything-”_

“I’m here,” Bucky tells him, firm, to make sure he believes it. “I’ve got you.”

“Bucky,” Steve says back and, for a time, it seems to be all he can manage.

~

Dinner is a somber affair, despite everyone’s return to their rightful places. They all eat together, presumably to reassure one another that they’re all alive and in once piece, but they do so in almost total silence. Nine days in the other realms, though it was only a blink of an eye in this one. Worse, it wasn’t even an hour or two - they were gone barely twenty minutes, from what Thor says.

“Good job greenhorn’s on our side,” Tony murmurs, eyes turning to a tall, sharp looking man in black and green who’s standing next to Thor.

Bucky doesn’t recognize him. All he can think is that a week passed in fifteen minutes. A month would have passed in an hour, a year in twelve. Sure, Steve might have been gone a week in Jötunheim and been terrified that he’d been flung far into the distant future once more, but if he’d been gone a week in this realm?

Almost a century and a half would have passed in Jötunheim, in all those other places.

The man in green cocks his head but says nothing, pale and pinched the way everybody’s expressions seem to be.

Steve, wrapped in more layers than Bucky’s ever seen him need, closes his fingers tighter where they’re wrapped around Bucky’s ankle, where Bucky’s got his feet tucked up against him on the couch.

“Never thought we’d have occasion to thank you,” Steve says, jaw tight. “But you saved all of us.”

“Well, I’m sure I had some terrible self-serving reason,” the sharp man answers, but none of them really smile even though most of them pretend. “Have we decided on our next move?”

Steve, staring at the man as though he’s aggrieved of him for some reason, stares for just a few moments longer before he answers.

“You know how to find her,” he says, and the sharp man nods. 

“Yes,” he says, and then he glances at Thor and smiles in a way that’s clearly meant to be disarming and is actually nothing of the sort when he continues. “Ish.”

Steve just nods slowly, his usually deft chopstick work made clumsy by the frostbite. 

“Then we rest tonight,” he says. “She’s ours tomorrow.”

Bucky reaches out to him, settles one warm hand at the nape of Steve’s neck and squeezes slightly. 

“Maybe a few days,” he says softly, concern creasing his brow, and Steve watches him for a few long moments, too.

Then he draws a breath and nods, slowly.

“Alright,” he says, before he goes back to his food.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in getting me to write something for you, head on over to [my tumblr!](https://justanotherstonyfan.tumblr.com)


End file.
